Mapmakers Four
by NamedForTheWind
Summary: our favorites, the marauders, go so well together. We accept their friendship without thinking. A study of each in brief and then as a whole in regard to personality.
1. Prologue

They were the greatest of the great, from pranking to courage. They stood ready for battle, and were caught unawares. Four laughing boys, ingrained forever in our minds. Theirs is a story of glory, humor, love, betrayal, and hope. Filled with tears. Setting the stage for the next generation. Where would we be without them?

Each of the Marauders stands for one trait, one aspect of a personality. All were sorted into Gryffindor, yet each represents a different house. But which belongs where? Certainly not where you'd assume at first glance.


	2. Sirius Black Was Loyal

Sirius Black is Hufflepuff.

Oh, like any human being, he has some of each house in him. He's cunning, always turning people's spells and words on them, always making people laugh before they remember they didn't want to. He's intelligent, forever inventing new pranks and coming up with new ways to survive the war. He's brave, facing death head on and never flinching, braving anyone's worst nightmares and beyond.

Why, then, Hufflepuff? Why would someone so equally divided between the other three houses represent Hufflepuff? It's the place for the spares, the people unaccepted by the rest. Sirius is anything but that.

What people always seem to forget is that Hufflepuff is the house of the loyal.

The reason Sirius exercises the traits of the other houses is his friends, closer than family. He wouldn't have anyone to make laugh, without them, no one to gently steer hurtful words and dark curses away from, no reason to send them right back at the caster. Without them, he wouldn't have pranks to invent or the will to attempt to live through dark times. Sirius Black would turn and run like a coward—or worse, fight insanely, so to die—if the people he loved weren't standing right behind him, the next ones to go if he didn't try.

Everything he's ever done has been for loyalty. He begged the Sorting Hat to be in Gryffindor, so he could save his best friend from those who fawned over the Potter heir. He discovered Remus' lycanthropy, and made sure the others wouldn't be stupid when they confronted him. He decided in second year that they should become animagi, and started the research, so he could be there for Remus.

He joined the Quidditch team so James wouldn't be dodging bludgers all alone. He helped Peter with his homework when even Remus became cross. He found each of his friends' individual styles of learning, so he could help them all. He worked hard in his worst subject so they wouldn't have to worry about them.

He comforted Lily when he found her crying in the hall (because of her know-it-all ways and nonexistent friends), and invited her to eat with him the next morning and every day onwards. He acted as James and Lily's messenger when James discovered his feelings for the redhead. He helped Peter struggle through becoming an animagus. He enchanted the Marauder's Map so his friends would never get caught on their late-night forays to the kitchens.

He held Lily and made shushing noises when she fought with Severus. He helped James attempt to woo her. He slipped little anonymous notes of comfort to Snape, when he discovered he was having a hard time – he knew Lily still cared for him. He decided in a drunken rage one night to help Lily and Snape become friends again, James get his girl, and Remus get over his fear of people finding out his secret by tricking Snape into glimpsing Remus but then being hauled out by the courageous do-gooder James. He spent a miserable few weeks away from everything until James convinced him that he had been forgiven, and then threw himself at his friends' feet.

He bought a flat with poor Peter when they left school, so he wouldn't be alone. He remembered the look of longing in Peter's eyes when he turned to James and suggested that the Potters ask Pettigrew instead. He remembers his horrible rage at Wormtail's betrayal, and the maniacal laughter in the street. He kept his sanity through twelve years in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors, so he could avenge James and save his godson.

He didn't kill a traitor because of a boy's pleading for _his_ sake. He lived off of garbage and rats so he could keep an eye on Harry. He confined himself to his childhood home so Harry could live in peace and fight his war. He allowed spirited red heads to dash about him and dredge up painful, half-gone memories. He encouraged a highly dangerous secret society so Harry would find a vocation other than becoming an Auror. He remembered apparating to the ministry so quickly he almost splinched, so to save the two remaining to him. He died laughing so James could see that he never gave in; went on just as he would have liked.

Sirius Black is Hufflepuff, and any who say Hufflepuffs amount to nothing ought to remember that.


	3. James Potter Had Pride

James Potter was Slytherin. Sly, manipulative, and untainted, he represented the house he despised most. The laws of irony seemed to govern his life, and this is no exception.

He had qualities from all houses, and a few more besides. Hard-working and loyal to the last. Brave and self-sacrificing to a fault. Intelligent and prudent as any teenage boy can be expected to be. Headstrong and implacable. Immovable yet flexible. Oblivious. Totally aware of his surroundings. An oxymoron, with heavy emphasis on the moron, as Lily Evans liked to say.

But beyond all this, he was Slytherin.

Cunning.

Ambitious.

Pureblood.

He could twist anyone around his finger, and often did. He made them dance like puppets on strings, controlling their lives without their knowledge. Pushing them around like pieces on a chessboard. He always turned the reins back over to Lady Fate fairly quickly, but he was tempted. Tempted to hold on to that control, to manipulate people's lives. He told himself that he just wanted to make things better, that he could clearly see the path that must be taken. He knew that he was right, but in the wrong. People must make their own choices. He learned that lesson once and for all when he saw the flash of green light that ended everything. Ended everything, but set the stage for the next act. But still, he was tempted.

He took one look at her and knew. Knew that she would turn him away, turn him down. It thrilled him all the more. He reached for what was beyond him, and sometimes it moved just far enough in his direction that he could snatch it up. He was determined to become an animagus before his fifth year. He decided to become head of the aurors. He wanted to pull Voldemort down. Always straining, stretching into that void that was so inviting, that urged him to let go, to let his life spiral out of control as he concentrated only on those goals, those dreams. A happy home and family, above all. Sometimes he got what he wanted, sometimes not.

The blood flowing through his veins had not seen a muggle or muggle-born in over a hundred years, and even that was debatable. Arrogant as any noble and as high as one could be in his own society, he was more similar to families such as the Malfoys and the Blacks than he could ever imagine. He deserved to be treated deferentially, that he had been assured of since birth. Somehow he just knew that it was completely just that he had the best of everything. He shared out Olivanders certificates like candy to those from poorer backgrounds, the sorry things, and just couldn't understand why some became so indignant when he tried to give them money. Yes, he was a pureblood, and in more ways than one.

But above all, Slytherin was the house of the prideful, and there were none more so than he. He did not flaunt it, but it was there. And never allow the proud to be confused with the prideful. For though the two are similar, they are not the same, and as such do not often mix well.

James Potter represented Slytherin till the day he died (and does yet, for all I know), and was living proof that the house didn't necessarily mean evil. Let him serve as a reminder to us all that judgments are things to be withheld until the last possible moment.

**Wow. I've never written an arrogant James before, so feedback, please! Did I surprise you? Are you on the edge of your seat, waiting to discover the next house? Or are you ready to kill me for making James Slytherin? Be candid, please. I really don't care if you swear me up and down the prime meridian, as long as you review. In fact, I'd thank you for it!**


	4. Remus Lupin Was Strong

Remus Lupin wasn't quite sure where he stood. For years he debated over which house he truly belonged in.

At first, the answer was easy; he was supposed to be in Ravenclaw. Smart, studious, and shy, that was him. He looked out windows and sighed, trying to puzzle out why he wasn't there. He always turned assignments in on time, even after the full moon. He helped his friends with their homework, and badgered them into studying. Generally, he was sensible, and generally he believed in people. His clothes were neat and orderly, the writing on his parchments more so. He obeyed the rules—as best as he could, with friends like his.

Then, during second year, it came to him. Came over him, actually, so slowly that it was as if he had always known it. He was, of course, not supposed to be in Ravenclaw, but Hufflepuff! His friends meant everything to him, were his world. They were his one saving grace. How could he have missed it? Of course a creature so closely related to the very epitome of loyalty would be in Hufflepuff! He knew his facts, and had subtracted the prejudices; Hufflepuff meant loyalty. He adored his friends, regarded them as his saviors. Of course! How could he have been so stupid? (Well, obviously, he wasn't required to be smart, anymore, as he wasn't Ravenclaw, but…)

Then his world came spiraling to a jarring halt when he saw Sirius' animagus form. This, this was loyalty, he realized. Someone who never looked to themselves. How could someone so selfish as he be anything but Slytherin? He was always thinking about himself, always worrying about himself. He was cunning. Not intelligent, but cunning. Oh, it all made sense now.

He kept a happy face on, but one night, when James and Sirius had nicked some Firewhiskey, he got drunk. Got just drunk enough to wander around in a depression, bemoaning the cruel world and the horrible sense of humor possessed by the world at large. He could almost _feel_ it snickering at him.

_Not so high and mighty after all, are we, Remus?_ It said to him. _You're a Dark creature, anyways!_

He found himself standing out on a balcony he hadn't even known existed. Found himself standing next to Sirius, the cause of his problem. He turned around and started pounding his fists into his friend's chest.

"It's your fault!" He cried, over and over and over again. Finally he wore himself out, and collapsed onto the railing, sobbing.

"My fault, what, exactly?" said his aggressor cockily, seemingly unaffected by the large amounts of alcohol.

"It's your fault I've got to be Slytherin!" Seeing the shocked look on Sirius' face, he proceeded to explain his dilemma to his former friend. He turned his head slightly towards him and watched curiously as Sirius covered his face. A low sound filled the area.

"You-you're laughing at me!" he gasped, disbelieving.

"You idiot," Sirius told him, shaking his head and in full roar now, "can't you see that the Sorting Hat put you exactly where you're supposed to be? You're Gryffindor through and through, you selfless git!" And with that, Sirius exited the scene, laughing uproariously. Remus shook his head. Gryffindor? His friend must be insane.

But his friends knew, that Remus Lupin was, indeed, Gryffindor. He faced prejudice, pain, and hardship, with barely a thought for himself. And what is that, but bravery?

**So, this is a lot different from the previous chapters (obviously), especially in how it's written. Let me know what you think—if you don't like it I'll take it down and rewrite it, or put the original back up.**


	5. Peter Pettigrew Knew The Secrets

Peter Pettigrew was Ravenclaw

**A/N: ****So, finally, the Peter chappie. It's short, but oh well. I like it. And take a look-see at the new Remus chappie!**

**Disclaimer:**** If I'd written the Harry Potter series, they wouldn't be about Harry. They'd be about the sea-faring Marauders. So no, I don't own any of it, except the stuff that's pretty obviously my idea.**

Peter Pettigrew was Ravenclaw.

How? In our minds, the one everyone called a tag-a-long simply couldn't have been smart. He couldn't have been just as intelligent as his friends.

And in that, lay his genius.

He was the one who overheard conversations, could sneak out among others and never be suspected, for he was so, so, weak…He was their spy.

And so it made sense, in a twisted kind of way, that he was _the_ spy. Fate, some would say. His schooldays were a training, of sorts, for his life. He knew, oh, how he knew, each intimate secret of each of his friends; in case they ever turned on him.

But they didn't. Sirius stuck up for him, James gave him purpose, and Remus encouraged him to be his own person. Remus told him that he couldn't just follow forever. He'd seen the glint in Peter's eyes; he'd seen how much he needed his friends, his compatriots, his fellow fellows. He'd told him to let go of needing and hold on to what he had.

Above all, Peter desired knowledge. It made him feel safer, even with his friends to protect him. He knew that with his limited magical strength, there wasn't much he could do, but he could pull the walls of Hogwarts down. He could destroy the strongest of strongholds if he wanted, could pull Dumbledore's world down, crashing 'bout his ears. But he didn't. He knew exactly where he stood. He'd thought he could away with it, that night, but he couldn't, and his life had been one long, perilous, journey after another since, with nothing happening fast enough, nothing coming fast enough. He'd finally made a commitment he couldn't worm his way out of, and it thrilled and terrified him simultaneously.

Peter was incredibly smart. So smart, in fact, that it scared even him. Pretending to be dumb was a safety net, of sorts. It made him more socially acceptable, and made him seem like less of a threat to people like the Slytherins. They'd always thought that he'd be easy to turn, and they were right, but for the wrong reasons. He never really trusted the Marauders, not really, because he couldn't understand the way their world worked. It was one of honor and half-truths in the stead of lies, and he felt unworthy, that he could only glimpse such greatness. But the shadowy and mistrustful world of the Death Eaters was one he could understand, one he slid into easily and felt almost disdainful towards, until he again remembered that he was a part of it. So his decision was made.

You think that he wasn't smart? Didn't have the brains for Ravenclaw, the brawn for Gryffindor, the malice for Slytherin?

You were wrong.


	6. Portrait Of The Marauders

There was a portrait of the Marauders once

**Disclaimer:**** Don't own it. Never said I did.**

There was a portrait of the Marauders once.

It showed up in their room magically one night, and they stood and wondered at it. For it looked like them, but different. James Potter stood, tall and strong and proud, like in life; but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, and a bit of guilt around his mouth. And Peter lay on his stomach, next to James and away from Remus and Sirius, legs crossed and up in the air, head propped up by hands and forearms and elbows, with a sly grin on his face; but the grin was almost regretful, and his forehead spoke of unspeakable sorrow while his eyes begged for forgiveness; and in his posture there was a pride in the right thing, done too late. Sirius stood leaning against a tree that faded into the background, chortling softly at some secret joke; and his back slumped in a guilt that neither asked nor wanted for forgiveness, his eyes were world-weary, and his heart seemed broken, while his laugh was like a broken record – harsh and repetitive. Remus was glancing at Sirius, hands in his pockets and smile admonishing, yet somehow pleading to be let in on the joke; but he looked like he was telling himself and the world a lie and had been caught in it, and his eyes glistened with a faint pride and lamented the loss of innocence.

But they didn't quite see this when they looked at it. They saw themselves, caught in a moment in time and in soft water color and pastel, in a Muggle portrait that didn't show what was, but something else. And they were enchanted, pulled into it, for they each saw something different, and each saw something different every time they looked at it. The soft grass seemed to almost sway, but it didn't, and nothing in the background was quite clear, beyond color and motion. Something about it seemed almost sad: nostalgic, longing for a better future.

They were all late for class that day, and not a one of them could pay any attention. They were caught in a daydream about their wonderful portrait, and that night they decided to move it. Carefully wrapping it in the Invisibility Cloak and guarding it from prying eyes jealously, they brought it to a special place, one of their many hidden passages and rooms. There they celebrated it in a solemn sort of joy, feeling that their normal, rowdy, merriment would be out of place. Each boy somberly raised a fluted champagne glass and drank to their portrait, and though there was an entire bottle, they each had only one glass. Then they crept away quietly, one by one, not wanting to destroy their newly found type of magic.

There was a portrait of the Marauders once, and no one knows what happened to it. James showed it to Lily the night he proposed to her, and Sirius sat in front of it for hours before telling James he wouldn't be their Secret Keeper. And who knows if Peter consulted its ageless and unchanging, but ever-changing, wisdom before making his decision? But when Dumbledore went to collect it from its hiding place years later, he found that it was not there, and nor did anyone know where it had gone.

There was a portrait of the Marauders once, that made each one seem like a prince. Like a forgotten Celtic king, out of the mists of time. There was a sort of brotherhood in their stances, and the ancient code of chivalry and right showed in their faces. Honesty and steadfastness and a timeless grace. A dream half-forgotten, of a time that never was, and a reality that could never be. There was a portrait of the Marauders once, and it showed them for what they were, what they could be. They were that dream of the past, of the better times when there were knights in shining armor. They were knights of the Round Table, with all the virtues that made men best. And their impossibility, the inability of such a truth to exist in the real world; it killed them, drew them apart. It made the reality of the portrait, but put a distance between them. Such veracity couldn't survive the changing world.

There was a portrait of the Marauders once, and it will be found again. And there will be a map to Avalon in its background, and that other, older, deeper kind of magic, will rush into all hearts alike. And maybe it won't be of the Marauders again, but it still will be of four people with such loyalty and hope, and it will still be them. Reincarnation can simply be the same thing in a new form, and they will come again, into the portrait.

**Yeah. Sorry for the dithering about King Arthur at the end. And about the lack of closure. I might edit this (about 10,000 times) and repost, eventually.**

**I'm thinking of ending it here (and writing all requested chappies in a different story). If you want me to write another Marauders chappie, let me know. If you think my newest chpts suck, let me know. If you just don't care, LET ME KNOW!**

**Ah. Yeah. I might just want reviews. And I might just be pleading. I'd never admit it, though.**


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